Chapter 3 IN TWO DAYS

~LYRA~

But the sky still called to me every night, and the secret uniform hidden under the attic floorboard burned in my mind like a brand.

“Lyra?” Mother’s voice pulled me back. She was looking at me now, brow slightly furrowed. “You’ve gone quiet. Is something wrong?”

I forced a smile, pushing a purple lock behind my ear where it immediately slipped free again. “Just thinking about how much sugar we’re wasting on one cake. The market prices have gone up again.”

Mother waved a hand dismissively, her golden hair catching the light. “It’s Selene’s day. We can afford a little indulgence. Besides, once she’s chosen—” She caught herself, but the words hung in the air anyway. Once she’s chosen.

Not if. Never if when it came to Selene.

Selene shifted uncomfortably on her stool, glancing between us. “Mother, don’t jinx it. Lyra didn’t get chosen, and she’s the strongest person I know. If the dragons didn’t pick her, they might not pick me either.”

The room went still for a beat. Mother’s hands paused over the sugar flowers. I felt a rush of gratitude toward my sister, even as guilt twisted in my gut for the secret plan forming in the back of my mind.

Sneaking into the Choosing, wearing a borrowed uniform. Risking Mother’s anger and the Academy’s rules just for one more chance.

Mother recovered quickly, smoothing her expression into that gentle, practical mask she wore so well.

“Lyra is strong, yes. But the dragons see different things in different people. Your sister has… a certain grace. And you, Selene—” She reached out and tucked a strand of that perfect yellow hair behind Selene’s ear. “You were practically born for the skies.”

I looked down at the batter, now smooth and pale. My hands, rough from market work, looked out of place holding the delicate spoon. My hair fell forward again, a dark purple curtain that separated me from their golden world. It had always been like this, my weird color marking me as the odd one out, the girl who didn’t quite match the family portrait.

Mother never said it outright, but I’d caught her staring at my hair sometimes with a mix of confusion and quiet resignation, as if wondering why the gods had given her one golden daughter and one who looked like she carried storms in her veins.

“Cake’s ready to bake,” I announced, pouring the batter into the prepared pan a little more forcefully than necessary. The sound of it hitting the tin echoed in the sudden quiet.

Mother took the pan from me with a nod. “Thank you, Lyra. You’re a good help. Why don’t you go set the table while I put this in the oven? Selene, come help me with the frosting. We’ll make it beautiful.”

Selene hesitated, then slid off the stool and joined Mother at the counter. I watched them for a moment—two heads bent close together, one bright yellow, the other the same sunny shade, moving in easy harmony as they discussed colors and patterns.

They looked like they belonged in one of those old rider tapestries: mother and daughter, united. I turned away and grabbed the plates, the ceramic cool against my palms. As I set the table, the clink of dishes filled the small kitchen, but my mind was already elsewhere, on the pre-dawn shadows of the Academy grounds, on the vial of shadow-weave tincture, on the way my heart raced every time I imagined stepping onto that field again.

Dinner passed in a blur of laughter and stories. Selene recounted funny moments from her lessons at the local school, imitating the stern teacher who always smelled like ink and disapproval.

Mother listened with indulgent smiles, occasionally adding her own memories of her brief riding days. I chimed in when I could, teasing Selene about how she’d probably charm every dragon with her smile alone, but my contributions felt forced, like I was performing the role of the supportive big sister while my real self paced restlessly inside.

After the cake, light, fluffy, and perfect just as Mother wanted, Selene blew out the candles with a single breath, her eyes squeezed shut in a wish I didn’t dare ask about. Mother clapped and hugged her tightly, whispering something in her ear that made Selene beam.

I hugged her too, breathing in the scent of sugar and lavender, my dark purple hair mixing with her golden strands in a strange, mismatched tangle.

“Happy birthday, Sel,” I murmured against her shoulder. “You deserve every good thing coming your way.”

She pulled back and looked at me with those clear eyes. “So do you, Lyra. Don’t forget that.”

Later that night, when the house had gone quiet and Mother’s soft snoring drifted from her room, I lay in my narrow bed staring at the ceiling. The leftover cake sat heavy in my stomach. Selene’s birthday had been warm and golden, exactly as it should have been. But tomorrow, tomorrow I would help Mother with the final preparations for the Ceremony, smiling and nodding while my secret plan solidified.

Two days.

I slipped out of bed and crept to the small mirror propped on my dresser. In the moonlight filtering through the window, my reflection stared back: gray eyes, sharp cheekbones, and that wild dark purple hair cascading over my shoulders like spilled ink mixed with twilight. It looked alive, almost glowing faintly in the dark, as if it carried its own storm.

I touched a strand, twisting it between my fingers. Mother had tried dyeing it once when I was younger, hoping to make it match hers and Selene’s sunny yellow. The color had washed out in days, leaving it even more vivid, like it was fighting back. “Some things can’t be changed,” she had sighed then, the same resignation in her voice she used when talking about my failed Choosing.

But I refused to believe that.

I climbed the creaky stairs to the attic one last time that night, the floorboards cool under my bare feet. Pulling up the loose board, I checked my stash again, the uniform, the map, the tincture. Everything was still there, waiting.

My fingers brushed the rough fabric of the spare jacket, and a thrill shot through me. In two days, I would wear it. In two days, I would stand among the candidates, hood up, purple hair hidden, heart pounding louder than any dragon’s roar.